555: Chapter 555 Scenic Views of Taihang Mountains: The Dust of the Warring States Period

By this time, Jiang Chen had already stepped out of the eastern gate of Linzi and arrived at the foot of the Taihang Mountains. Here, the peaks were like halberds and the cliffs dropped a thousand fathoms; since ancient times, it had been a place where military forces gathered and iron cavalry contended. For the next two hundred years, through the division of feudal lords, the transition between Qin and Han, and the chaos of Wei and Jin, the flames of war almost never went out—the danger of Taihang was truly a lock and key set by heaven and earth.

The mountain range stretched across, with eight ancient roads passing through the ridges: Jundu Pass, Puyin Pass, Feihu Pass, Jing Pass, Fukou Pass, Bai Pass, Taihang Pass, and Zhiguan Pass. Known to the world as the "Eight Passes of Taihang," they were the only throat-like passages for military movement and commerce between the regions of Jin, Ji, and Yu, hidden among a hundred overlapping peaks and guarding the mouths of ten thousand deep valleys.

The Taihang of that time did not yet have the vast, cracked appearance of the later Loess Plateau. The climate was warm and moist, the forests were lush, and human habitation was sparse. Although wars were frequent, they instead made people fear heaven and respect the earth, not daring to indiscriminately fell the mountain forests. The entire mountain range was as vibrant as a newborn; streams leaped over stones, birds sang in the deep shade, and even the breathing of the vegetation could be heard.

The water veins within the mountains were abundant: the Juma River split the northern foothills, the Hutuo River combed through the central ridge, and the Zhang and Qin Rivers each carved out a corner, stubbornly eroding transverse valleys into the hard rock, thus forming the strategic shapes of the "Passes." As the wars grew more intense, populations gathered, and cultivation deepened, the mountain soil gradually loosened. Under the washing of rainwater, the yellow soil began to appear—the prototype of the Loess Plateau was quietly growing in the cracks between the flash of blades and the blades of plows.

Jiang Chen stood alone before the mountains, the wind brushing his sleeves. He suddenly thought: If later generations saw today's Taihang, what would they think? Would they sigh at how the ancestors cherished the mountains like their own lives, or would they look on with indifference, feeling it was nothing more than a patch of green with no deeper meaning?

This mountain color was the unaltered face of the earth. When he had refined the Earth Star Atlas back then, what he had relied upon was exactly this kind of uncarved memory. A thousand years later, what would it become? He both looked forward to it and could not bear to see it.

Women love flowers because flowers have color; why wouldn't the mountains and rivers love their own clear majesty? Beauty is not a resource for people to squander, but a token that one must stoop to pick up and carefully return.

The mountain path wound, and the wind surged from the valley bottom, cool and crisp. Jiang Chen's toes touched the ground, his figure not sinking, not even startling half a fallen leaf. The wind passed through the treetops, his sleeves fluttering slightly and his hair brushing lightly, yet he stood as still as a green stone on a cliff—this was not controlling nature, but breathing at the same frequency as it. Even the Laws of heaven and earth he had personally deduced appeared exceptionally vivid at this moment.

Heaven and earth have their own rhythm. Jiang Chen never forcibly altered the will of the Earth Star, only letting it circulate according to its nature. Pangu's Heavenly Dao hung high like a mirror; how could the general trend be twisted by private intent? The mountains and rivers before him were in order, and all things grew of themselves, which was peaceful enough.

He walked slowly through the forest and ravines. Birdsong was on his left, the sound of the stream on his right; the moisture of the water touched his skin, and the scent of vegetation filled his nose. Unknowingly, he followed the guidance of the water's sound, walking into the depths of a mountain hollow. Along the way, waterfalls cascaded down one after another, white silk suspended in the air, mist steaming up; standing within it, one felt as if they had forgotten the time of day.

Suddenly, a squad of armored soldiers rushed over, their iron armor clanking and treading so hard that gravel jumped about. The leader abruptly stopped, pointing at the figure standing quietly before the waterfall and asking in a low, startled voice, "In these deep mountains and wild ridges, where did this idle person come from?" The soldiers looked at each other but did not dare to say much—military orders were as absolute as mountains, how could they be delayed? They gritted their teeth and swallowed their doubts, hurrying past. But that figure had, after all, disturbed Jiang Chen's quietude.

His brow furrowed slightly as he looked up. Banners fluttered and armor was solemn; the ranks were as urgent as a rushing fire. With a thought, he quietly trailed at the end of the squad, following the army out through Fukou Pass. The further they went, the tighter the atmosphere became: grain wagons were being rushed, scouts returned frequently, and the hooves of the messengers' horses flew... Further ahead, a boundary stone appeared—inscribed with "Zhao" above and "Wei" below. The direction was clear: straight toward Handan.

At this point, he was truly stunned. Four hundred years had slipped by in a single thought. A bitter smile floated on his lips. To a Mortal, it was half a history book; to him, it was but morning dew on his clothes. A chance meeting in the past, now separated forever by Yin and Yang. Seek him in the Underworld? No need. If there is fate, they will eventually meet again.

The blood of Changping was not yet cold. The State of Zhao's elite were all lost, its Origin Qi greatly damaged; the State of Qin watched like a tiger, and among the seven states, only its power was unstoppable. Lord Pingyuan of the State of Zhao sent an envoy to the State of Wei, and Lord Xinling stole the tally to save Zhao, temporarily resolving the imminent crisis. But would the people of Qin be willing to stop? The Six States then secretly discussed a Vertical Alliance, wanting to gather their strength to break Qin. This military march was precisely the vanguard to aid Zhao—as for the overall plan to attack Qin, it would need to be plotted slowly.

Jiang Chen stood silently at a street corner, listening to the clamor of the marketplace. Within Handan, neither chickens nor dogs were at peace; the Qin army's camps had already been established in the western suburbs. Had the reinforcements from Qi, Chu, and Wei not arrived by traveling day and night, the city gates would likely have been wide open long ago. In fact, the Qin army had attacked several times, only to return in defeat. The people of Zhao had not collapsed, their hearts were not scattered, and the defending soldiers gritted their teeth and held on, stubbornly waiting for the reinforcements.

The Qin camp also underwent changes: the commander was replaced mid-battle, the soldiers longed to return home, orders were inconsistent, and the siege was repeatedly frustrated. Only then did the State of Zhao catch its breath, temporarily escaping the disaster of total destruction.

"The reinforcements are here! It's stable now!"

"We finally survived! We won't have to be slaves of a fallen nation; we can still farm and raise our kids. The heavens have opened their eyes!"

The faces of the commoners glowed with the light of having survived a disaster, but Jiang Chen only slowly shook his head. Though this battle was won, what about the next time? Relying on the blades and swords of others to protect one's life was ultimately not a long-term solution. The words 'self-reliance' have not changed for a thousand years. Unfortunately, Zhao has the King of Zhao, Wei has the King of Wei, and Han has the King of Han—either headstrong, fuddled, or shortsighted. When a nation's fortune is like paper, how can it not be torn?

He paced through the Handan market. The crowds surged, laughter and chatter were boisterous, the wine shops were filled with celebratory wine, and children chased falling colored silks. Should he be sorrowful? Should he sigh? None were appropriate.

"Four hundred thousand young men are gone, how can the State of Zhao compete for the world? Even holding Handan is a struggle! Yet the Great King still won't listen to a single word of advice. What is to be done?"

"What else can be done? We can only hope for some days of peace. Otherwise... the State of Zhao will fall sooner or later. The Six States joining forces? Easy to say, but hard to unite their hearts. Each harbors their own schemes; who is willing to be the first to lose their own troops to gnaw on the hard bone that is the State of Qin? Zhao... is afraid it has truly reached a dead end."

A few lines of conversation suddenly drifted into Jiang Chen's ears, and he subconsciously looked up—only to see two noblemen in brocade robes and jade belts walking slowly, surrounded by a squad of soldiers in bright armor. Although separated by a carriage, it could not block his keen ears and eyes; in an instant, every word entered his heart.

"Lord Xinling, this time it is all thanks to your full support. If not for you, the State of Zhao would likely not even have been able to sustain this breath."

"Things have come to this, it's too late to speak of gratitude. Lord Pingyuan, the priority now is to protect what little Foundation remains. If we fail again, there truly won't be a single chance left. I cannot return to Wei now, so I can only entrust myself to you. Among the feudal lords of the world, which state can truly not be overturned?"

The ones speaking were precisely Lord Pingyuan and Lord Xinling. The two had just left the royal palace after presenting their case to the King of Zhao, but it was ultimately in vain. Zhao's decline was already a settled matter; Wei and Han were also like candles in the wind, teetering on the edge; only Qi and Chu still had the strength to contend with Qin. But the State of Qi had not yet recovered its Origin Qi after the disaster of the Yan army breaking Linzi, and was only capable of self-defense; the State of Chu was situated far away in Jingxiang, blocked by mountains and rivers, with a convoluted political situation, making it even harder to be of one mind.

Jiang Chen stepped aside to the edge of the road, not going forward to pay his respects. In his view, the so-called "Four Lords" were far inferior to the likes of Guan Zhong and Bao Shuya, who shared such deep loyalty and extraordinary insight. They were able to establish names for themselves only because talents were scarce at the end of the Warring States period, and they happened to have the protection of noble lineages to reach high positions.

But in fairness, they did indeed run about and cry out for the resistance against Qin. This achievement cannot be erased or slighted. Because of them, the Six States extended their gasping breath for several decades, which could be considered the last bit of warmth in these troubled times.

"Young Master, please stay! This shop specializes in various jewelry, guaranteed to make your sweetheart happy upon seeing them—won't you take a look?"

Jiang Chen's neck tightened, and he turned his head sharply, almost jumping in surprise. Hearing the words, he was momentarily speechless. No matter how high his cultivation, he had never touched upon matters of romance; moreover, with the vast difference in seniority now, how could he act recklessly? He immediately turned and walked away with quick steps, his feet like the wind. Fortunately, no one noticed, otherwise his dignity would be completely lost.

"Young Master... please be kind, give me a bite to eat."

A small, thin figure swayed before his eyes, holding an old wooden bowl with a chipped rim. The child looked up, his eyes burning bright, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and his cracked lips moving silently—he was clearly starving.

Prosperity, the people suffer; ruin, the people suffer.

How true. At this age, he should be sitting in a school, holding a brush and practicing calligraphy, yet now he was begging for a bite to survive in the streets and alleys.

"Come, follow big brother. I'll take you to have a full meal, don't be afraid." Jiang Chen leaned down, his palm gently resting on the child's head, his fingertips brushing through the soft, withered yellow hair. When the child nodded hesitantly, he took that small hand, which was turned blue from the cold; the touch was bone-chillingly cold, and his heart suddenly sank—he had never tasted this kind of cold, but he knew the feeling was certainly not pleasant.

As soon as the child heard there was food, a light instantly burst from his eyes. After a slight hesitation, he gripped Jiang Chen's finger tightly and stumbled along. Before long, the two stopped in front of a tavern. The waiter squinted his eyes and was about to scold them, but his gaze swept over Jiang Chen's clothing and saw his calm expression. Unable to gauge his depth for a moment, he suppressed his impatience and only kept a stiff face without saying a word. The child, however, had already shrunk behind Jiang Chen, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Don't be nervous, big brother is here." Jiang Chen comforted him in a low voice, then turned to the waiter and said, "Bring the finest wine and dishes quickly. Also, prepare a set of clean clothes, tailored to this child's size."

The waiter's eye twitched as he caught a glimpse of a gold ingot inadvertently sliding out from the other's sleeve. He immediately beamed with joy, his waist bending three times lower than before: "Guest, please—to the private room upstairs, I'll serve you right away!"

Once in the private room, the waiter began to busy himself, his feet barely touching the ground. That gold ingot felt heavy and hot in his palm; he didn't even want to blink, for fear the light would slip away.

Jiang Chen first led the child to the next room to wash his face and bathe. When the waiter brought the new clothes, he personally helped him change. Once the grime was washed away, a thin but clever-looking face was revealed.

"By the way, what is your name? Where is your home?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt it was abrupt—the child was so hungry his stomach was stuck to his back, how could he care about answering these? Sure enough, he quickly added: "Hungry? Eat first, talk while you eat. No rush, no rush."

"Thank you, big brother... My home was originally outside the city, but now... it's gone. My parents... are both gone." The child's voice choked up, his chopsticks stopping in mid-air, grains of rice falling back into the bowl. "My name is Xiao Gang."

"Mhm, Xiao Gang." Jiang Chen picked up a piece of tender meat, blew on it, and handed it over. "Eat quickly, don't let your stomach get hurt from hunger. Talk after eating, there's no hurry. Try this, it's soft, chew slowly—yes, take a sip of water. Good, take your time."

Xiao Gang stared at the table full of steaming dishes, his eyes dazed. These kinds of dishes he had only seen in dreams. At this moment, the wafting aroma made his cheeks flush hot. He turned red in the face, and as soon as he took the chopsticks, he began to wolf down the food; if not for Jiang Chen's gentle reminders, he would have likely swallowed the whole piece of meat at once.

Once his stomach was full, Xiao Gang slowly came to his senses—just now he had been so focused on wolfing down the food that the big brother hadn't even touched his chopsticks. He immediately shrank his neck, looking up timidly with flickering eyes and slightly sweaty palms, afraid of being scolded or beaten. This kind of thing was something he truly hadn't experienced before.

"Full?"

"If you're still hungry, I'll have them bring more."

"Do you want more?"

"N-no! I'm truly stuffed, I can't swallow a single grain more... Thank you, big brother!" Xiao Gang waved his hands quickly, his voice tight. It wasn't out of politeness, he was genuinely so full his ribs felt tight—no matter how fragrant the food, a stomach has its limits, and he didn't want to lie down and not be able to get up.

"That's fine then." Jiang Chen nodded. "Tell me about yourself."

Xiao Gang then told his life story in detail: his surname was Qian, and his name was Gang; his home was outside Handan. A few months ago, the Qin army broke through the village and slaughtered all the neighbors. He had survived by hiding in a gap in a haystack and stumbled into Handan. Who knew that the city had long since run out of food? The government couldn't look after the refugees, and the porridge distribution points only opened once every three days. By the time it was his turn, the bottom of the pot was usually scraped clean, leaving only a few specks of rice water. Later, he could only beg along the streets. Having a mouthful of cold water was already lucky; it was common to be so hungry his eyes went dark and his legs shook.